Monthly Archives: December 2015

On December 16 my USA tour ended in Occoquan Virginia, but there was plenty more fun to come before Christmas and here is a brief outline of what we got up to:

Washington DC

Our flight home to the UK was not due to leave DC until 9.40 in the evening, so we had a full day to ourselves to explore Washington DC. As I have already detailed the weather throughout the tour had been sunny and warm (into the 70s at times), so the prospect of being tourists for a day was greatly appealing. We had decided that we would drive to the centre of the city and then walk the length of the Mall, taking in the Lincoln Memorial (more poignant to me following my visit to Gettysburg), admire The Whitehouse and gaze at the Washington Monument before strolling into whichever of the Smithsonian museums took our fancy.

We would bask in the spring-like temperatures and admire the grandeur of the nation’s capital.

December 17 had dawned rainy and foggy – thick fog and heavy rain. We would be lucky to see the top of the Washington Monument and certainly wouldn’t be able to see Capitol Hill from Lincoln’s seat, but we decided to go ahead with our plans anyway.

The drive into DC was easy, and having finally found a parking garage not too far from Pennsylvania Avenue we emerged into the rain and walked towards the Whitehouse.

With the Presidential election due to take place next year the battle for supremacy in the Whitehouse is in full flight and as we walked we noticed one of the most amazing bits of marketing possible. Within sight of the Whitehouse an old building is being converted into a hotel which will open next year and the huge banner outside carries the message: ‘TRUMP hotel COMING IN 2016.’

If anything the rain was coming down harder and got in at every seam: we were very miserable little drowned water-rats as we stood on the Ellipse admiring the National Christmas Tree and the elegant residence beyond. Having watched so many episodes of House of Cards during my trip it was strange to actually stand so close to the Oval Office.

With the entire choice of the Smithsonian collection spread out before us, what did we chose to see? Julia Child’s kitchen in the Museum of American History. We had seen the film Julie and Julia a few years ago and thoroughly enjoyed it, but knew nothing of the career of Julia Childs at all. In England we used to watch Fanny Craddock, who filled a similar role on our TV channels (and whose husband came out with the greatest double entendre on British television up to that point: ‘And I hope that all of your doughnuts turn out like Fanny’s…’).

The Museum of American History – at least the first floor – was remarkable and we spent most of our afternoon admiring beautifully displayed exhibits – especially the section dedicated to travel across America, complete with huge locomotives and wonderful cars from the twenties to the eighties (give me something with chrome and fins from the fifties any day!)

The afternoon was moving on towards evening so we started to walk back to our car, with a brief look at the Museum of Natural History on the way which, although impressive, didn’t have the same impact on us as American History had done.

Knowing that we would be leaving DC in the heart of the rush hour we had built in a huge amount of extra time for our journey to Dulles Airport, but the dedicated expressway saw us arrive with plenty of time to spare and we ate and relaxed at the airport before leaving American soil at the end of an amazing trip.

Back in England

Our overnight flight was on time, although we didn’t get much sleep during it, so we were both tired as we disembarked at Heathrow. The drive home to Abingdon only takes an hour and as we drove it struck us both that everything seemed so small suddenly: the cars, the roads, the buildings – everything!

At home we had the rest of the 18th to ourselves and spent a rather lazy day trying re-familiarising ourselves with home. We shopped, picked up our cat from the cattery and slowly started to unpack. With Christmas only a week away there were preparations to be made and after lunch Liz started to create the Christmas Pudding. This year she is making a gluten free pudding, so she is worried that the mixture may not hold together as successfully as puddings past – ‘supposin…supposin…it should break in the turning out!’ Mrs Cratchit’s panics are not just a good comedy device – they are a genuine reflection of the fears felt in almost every British kitchen at Christmas.

The 18th moved on, and I had to begin thinking about work again, as Saturday 19 December saw the first of my British shows this year. My UK tour started in Halifax, way to the North of England and then gently worked its way south, meaning that I had a long drive ahead of me to Yorkshire.

Saturday December 19: Halifax

The long drive gave me plenty of time to work at the 2-act version of A Christmas Carol that I would be performing for the next few days. I had become so used to the flow and rhythm of the single act script that I had to make sure that the new passages slipped in successfully: It was not so much a question of remembering the lines – they are all very familiar to anyone who knows the story; the issue is simply remembering to say them!

The drive took me up the spine of England, using the M1 motorway, which can be notoriously slow, but on this occasion my journey was uninterrupted and I arrived in Halifax with plenty of time to spare.

The venue for the first show was the Square Chapel Arts Centre, which, unsurprisingly, is housed in an old chapel, that is square. The theatre itself is on the first floor of the building, so I had to haul my props and costumes up several flights of stairs before meeting with John the front of house manager, and Simon the technical manager. Shortly after I arrived so did Michael Jones: Michael is one half of the production company that promotes and stages my shows in the UK and he looks after all of the technical aspects of my performances.

I rarely get to perform A Christmas Carol in the UK, so Michael wasn’t really familiar with the show, meaning we had to sit down with the script and go through it slowly scene by scene deciding how to light it. I used the lighting plot designed by David at Byers’ Choice as a base, and we used a small light to highlight Marley’s face, with a bright green gel in it: whether that is the colour of a bad lobster in a dark cellar I do not know, but it seemed to be effective nonetheless.

Michael also had a smoke machine, so we decided to fill the hall with smoke before the audience arrived, so it would be hanging in the atmosphere during the build up to the show, and then just before the start I would press the button to fill the stage again, meaning that the first scene, at Marley’s graveside, would have a very eerie feel to it.

Just before the performance I realised that December 19 was the very date on which A Christmas Carol was published, so we arranged to have a microphone backstage, and after the house lights went out I welcomed the audience and told them of this fact, which drew a few murmurs of interest and appreciation.

The stage at the Square Chapel is at floor level, with the seats raking up steeply in front, so I had to be a bit sparing with my top hat, as it would hide my face from the majority of the audience. The extra lines worked well enough but the transition from old script to new felt a bit clunky to me. One really annoying thing that had been bothering me throughout the USA tour is Marley’s line: ‘You will be haunted by three spirits….’ For some, unknown, reason I have taken to saying ‘visited’ instead of ‘haunted’ and I’ve been re-educating myself to come out with the correct line. During the performance in Halifax I successfully said ‘haunted’ during the script, but when I repeated the line in a blackout to start act 2, I reverted to ‘visited’: very annoying.

One bonus of performing the two act version was that as Scrooge sees his fiancée Belle leaving, I realised that I was approaching the interval and would have a chance to cool down before pushing onto the end.

The audience was a typically English one: somewhat quiet and rather reserved in their responses, which after the enthusiasm of American audiences was a little bit difficult to come to terms with, but the ovation at the end told me that it had been a successful evening.

As I got ready to leave the theatre the front of house manager gave me an envelope that had been left for me, and it contained a heavy iron key, with a note scribbled onto a napkin: ‘my great grandfather gave this to me to be returned to its rightful owner. I trust you know what to do with it. Signed, a debtor’. Curious!

Michael and I were being hosted by one of the theatre’s volunteers over night, so we drove back in convoy to a charming village nestling in the Yorkshire Moors between Hebden Bridge and Howarth, and had some cheese and biscuits before retiring for the night.

Sunday, December 20: Market Drayton

Sunday morning had dawned bright and the air was so clear. We all met in Julia’s kitchen and she made a delicious breakfast, which we ate overlooking the hills that folded over one another to create the Calder Valley.

My next show was due to be a matinee in Shropshire and I wanted to get onto the road reasonably early, so as not to be rushing at the other end. I left Julia’s cottage at around 9.15 and headed towards Manchester, encountering a strange meteorological phenomenon on the way: Yorkshire is in the east, whereas Lancashire (and Manchester) are to the west – why then was I driving straight towards the rising sun, which made visibility almost impossible? This scientific anomaly would not last long however, as I would be turning to the south soon – but as I took the M6 motorway the sun was STILL in my eyes! I have no idea how that all happened.

The Festival Drayton Centre in the small Shropshire town of Market Drayton is a great example of a community coming together to create an entertainment venue. Firstly a chapel was purchased and a simple and intimate theatre was built, but the needs of the community soon outstripped the small space, and more land was purchased. Now the venue boasts meeting rooms and a fantastic modern lobby, which houses the box office as well as a superb café. All theatres are struggling to get audiences in these days, but The Festival Drayton Centre has embraced live streaming of opera and productions by the Royal Shakespeare Company, which are bringing new audiences through the doors – it is a shining beacon of how to provide theatre in the 21st century.

I arrived in good time, followed shortly by Michael and we began to work at the lighting rig again. Having seen the show once Michael had scribbled some new ideas down and we discussed how best to include them. We asked the resident technician if we could have the green special for Marley’s face and after a moment’s thought he cheerfully replied: ‘Sure, You can have the Bad Fairy Special!’

We were joined in Market Drayton by Derek Grant, the other half of DGO, the production company. Derek and Michael have been working with me for eight years or so and have opened so many doors for me, and encouraged me to write new shows (most particularly Great Expectations). Sadly Derek and Michael have decided to retire and these few shows will be my last with them: it is certainly the end of an era in my professional life.

I sat in the dressing room chatting with Derek until the audience started to arrive. We gave the stage a good dose of smoke again, and I lit the candle on the little table, as well as placing the key that so mysteriously arrived in Halifax next to it.

The Shropshire audience was much more vocal than the Halifax one, and the show was great fun from beginning to end. However the strains of international performing were beginning to tell and I felt very weak and shaky during the performance. I was glad that this was a matinee and I could return to my nearby motel and have some rest.

Monday, December 21: Gloucester

I had plenty of time during Monday as both Market Drayton and my next venue of Gloucester are in the west of England, meaning no long drives were needed.

I had decided to drive initially to Shrewsbury and spend some time Christmas shopping there. Shrewsbury is a lovely small city, with plenty of independent shops. It is also the location for the George C Scott version of A Christmas Carol and Scrooge’s grave stone still lies in one of the town’s cemeteries.

After spending a few hours enjoying the Christmas Spirit and buying some small presents for Liz I returned to my car, and drove on to the Cathedral city of Gloucester, where I had time to explore before I had to be at the Guildhall to set up.

The Cathedral itself is set a little apart from the city centre and looked glorious, with its honey-coloured stone glowing against a bright blue winter sky.

My get-in at The Guildhall was scheduled for 5pm, but even though I was only moving my car about half a mile I got caught in the one-way system’s rush hour and ended up taking forty minutes to get there. The car park for the building is on the roof, which meant that I had to unload all of my furniture and get it into a lift, before being able to get to the stage.

The Guildhall is more of a rock venue, and the stage is very high and quite distant from the audience, so the atmosphere isn’t a great one. However the organisers had sold a goodly amount of tickets, so I was certainly hopeful of a good response.

Michael and Derek were both there and Michael worked with the tech crew to get the lights properly focussed and the cues logged in the system well before the audience arrived. My dressing room was beneath the stage and I felt tucked out of the way, which was rather nice as the fatigue was certainly telling now.

At 7.30 I climbed the staircase to the stage and waited for the houselights to dim, which was my cue to make the pre show announcement from the wings and activate the smoke machine, before listening to the music and walking out to start the show.

The Gloucester audience were another ‘British’ crowd and the show seemed to be quite a struggle. I was still saying ‘visited’ instead of ‘haunted’ (the other way round this time – I got it wrong at the beginning but correct at the start of act 2, although strictly speaking I should have said ‘visited’ both times, so that they matched).

The reaction at the end of the show was very positive, and lots of people waited afterwards to chat, which is always a good indication as to how the show has been received. By the time I had finished chatting Michael and Derek had left and I began the process of transporting my props and costume along the corridor, into the lift, out of the lift, and to the car, before driving home for a rare luxurious night in my own bed, and a chance to be with Liz for the first time in a few days.

Tuesday, December 22: Fernodwn

It was lovely to have a morning at home with Liz, and to make preparations for Christmas, including a good session at the supermarket. Over the last two months we have hardly been able to be together in a relatively ‘normal’ environment, so even the shop was a precious time to us.

In the afternoon however I was on the move again, this time driving to Ferndown in Dorset, and to the Barrington Theatre built in the middle of a small shopping centre. After about fifteen minutes driving around a Tesco car park, searching in vain, I eventually found myself at the stage door.

The Barrington is a small, modern theatre perfectly suited to the needs of the community, with a large well-equipped stage and a very welcoming and helpful staff. As it is right on their doorstep both Michael and Derek came to the show. Michael worked with the technical team while Derek and I chatted in the dressing room.

Derek has been in the business for years and years, and with Michael has promoted a wide range of shows. As they are retiring from the theatrical business Derek chatted reflectively about some of the characters that they have known over the years, especially some of the more temperamental. He told me of one female singing star who regularly threw the dressing room furniture about if everything wasn’t just so, and a television star of the seventies who grandly announced that ‘I am not a star – I am an ICON!’ I so hope that I never come across in that way!

As the start time of 7.30 approached the audience started to arrive and were entertained in the foyer by a local musical society singing carols. When everyone was seated I made the welcoming announcement from the wings (as had become the routine during the week), and activated the smoke machine before walking out.

The first act went well, and I managed to say ‘haunted’ instead of ‘visited’, although I fumbled the line when Scrooge is seeing the vision of Belle as a ‘comely matron..’ adding: ‘sitting opposite HIS’ (instead of HER), ‘daughter’. That makes for an interesting sub-plot.

Once again the audience were restrained and polite, but they all enjoyed the show. Naturally I said ‘visited instead of ‘haunted’ at the start of the second act, but apart from that all went smoothly.

After I had changed I chatted to some of the audience, many of whom had bought CDs and programmes and wanted them signed. Many of the choir wanted to talk as the musical society had produced their own version of A Christmas Carol a few years ago, and are staging Oliver! next year.

I said good bye to Derek and Michael and returned to Smuggler’s Cottage, my charming B&B just five minutes away from the theatre, where I fell asleep watching the end of Love Actually.

Wednesday, December 23: Leicester

The ancient Guildhall in Leicester has become a regular venue for me over the last few years: I have performed An Audience with Mr Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby, Great Expectations, Doctor Marigold, the Signalman and A Christmas Carol there. The audience is always enthusiastic and I have gained a strong following in the city.

The drive from Dorset to Leicester was due to take three hours and as this was the busiest shopping day of the year I set out good and early, thereby forgoing the delights of The Smuggler’s Cottage breakfast. After an hour on the road I stopped at a motorway service station, and realised that more and more of them are not serving ‘real’ food, so I was reduced to a Sausage Egg McMuffin meal.

I made good time and arrived in Leicester an hour before I needed to be at The Guildhall, which suited my purpose as I wanted to make a rather specific purchase, which I managed to do successfully.

Leicester has enjoyed great prosperity over recent years, thanks to the discovery of Richard III’s skeleton under a municipal car park (only the British could actually lose one of their Kings and not notice for hundreds of years), and the Guildhall houses the main City museum. I was welcomed like an old friend by the staff, headed up by Ben Ennis, who has become a good friend over the years.

Between us we unloaded my props from the car and took them into the hall itself, originally built in 1390, and therefore possessing the most amazing atmosphere. The stage is small and there is no technical equipment, but who needs it when there are half timbered walls, a vaulted ceiling and a roaring fire in a stone hearth?

My first job was to chat with the local radio station and record a few clips of the show for them to use on Christmas Eve. By the time I had finished, the audience were arriving and I could watch them from my dressing room, which overlooked the courtyard through which they all entered.

As the start time approached there was no sign of Michael, which was worrying, as he and I had been driving from the same place and I had been in Leicester for at least two hours. I sent him a text, but then had to concentrate on the show.

As ever the Leicester audience were a real treat to perform for: it was like being back in the USA! They joined in and laughed throughout the show, and even the City itself joined in, with the Cathedral bell ringing right on cue, which raise a huge laugh.

For once I got the ‘haunted/visited’ line right on both occasions, although I did manage to spoonerise ‘on the very day of the funeral’ into ‘on the derry vay of the funeral’, which I hope not too many people noticed.

During the first act I noticed Michael slipping in to the rear of the hall, which was a great relief. I discovered during the interval that he had left Dorset a little later than me, and had become caught in the Christmas traffic around Leicester itself.

Into the second act and the festival atmosphere continued, but I was saving the best until the end:

Leicester is a small city, and it has a small football team, which traditionally battles around the lower reaches of the Premier League. Leicester City FC has had its moments of glory, but has never been a team to threaten the multi-million pound outfits from London, Manchester and Liverpool.

This year, however, Leicester have been playing with the spirit of a winning team, and the day before my show it had been confirmed that they would sit at the top of the league over Christmas – which is always a major achievement for any team. To celebrate this fact I had wanted to mention the team during the show, and I decided that when Scrooge gets ‘dressed, all in his best’, I would let him wear a Leicester City scarf (my special purchase from this morning). I reached that line and he put on his usual plain scarf, before muttering ‘no, I must get dressed in my VERY best’ at which point I produced the blue and white of the Foxes. The cheer that went up must have threatened the ancient building!

I was very pumped up and excited by the performance, but I had to remember that there was another one to go, so tried to calm down and focus a little.

As the two-show event in Leicester was so close to Christmas, Ben had arranged for roast turkey and vegetables to be ordered in and hosted a wonderful festive supper between the shows. As well as Michael and me, there were various volunteers and staff members from the museum and Ben’s family who have all become good friends too.

We used the huge table in my dressing room, which was actually used as a jury room in the Guildhall’s days as a town hall. I cleared all of my costume away and the table was prepared. I placed my top hat in the table centre with a candlestick placed on the top in lieu of a more traditional table decoration.

Dinner: Ben to my right and Michael to his right

It was a lovely dinner, with much laughter. Ben’s mother told a long story, about some apparently dead goldfish that were brought back to life by a re-oxygenation of the water via a drinking straw: it was a bizarre, surreal tale, but brilliantly told and very entertaining. There then followed many stories of pet disasters, which became more upsetting and yet macabre-ly funny by the minute.

The dinner ended at 6, and the staff got ready to welcome the evening audience to the Guildhall. The jury room looks down on the hall itself, so I was able to watch the crowd as they took their places.

Although I was feeling tired, I was very pleased with the evening show. The audience were not quite as vocal as the afternoon’s but joined in enthusiastically. This time the clock didn’t ring on cue, but when I said ‘some people laughed to see the alterations in him…..’ a loud shriek of laughter was heard outside, again bang on cue. Two shows, two perfectly timed ad-libbed interruptions: if I believed in ghosts I may have thought that someone in the spirit world wanted to be a part of this show…..who could that be, then?

The football scarf raised another huge cheer, and I reached the end of the show with a feeling of huge celebration, which is just how it should have been so close to Christmas Day.

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day

I drove home from Leicester on the morning of Christmas eve and Liz and I spent the rest of the day making preparations for the big day. We finished decorating the house together, and hung lights wherever we could.

Christmas Day was so special, as it was the two of us together in our own house, and Liz provided the most remarkable turkey and Christmas pudding- which blazed in brandy, bedight with Christmas holly stuck in the top.

Having spent so much time apart over the past two months the entire Christmas time was wonderful, and we walked (a little) and talked (a lot) and relaxed together. It wasn’t a great huge Dickensian celebration – it was the perfect time for the two of us to grow together once more.

Sunday, December 27: The Concorde Club, Eastleigh

I had one final performance to give before 2015 passed and that was at a new venue for me, near to the city of Southampton. The Concorde Club was built as a music venue but is trying to expand its programme of events. The generously sized stage was in a cabaret style lounge, and tables were laid for the guests to have dinner before the show itself.

Liz had come with me, and Derek and Michael were both present, as this would mark my final performance for them.

The dinner service meant that the show would begin later than usual, and just before 8pm Liz wished me good luck and went to take her seat among the audience.

It was back to the ‘English audience’ and I quickly decided that there would be no point trying to cajole them to join in with anything, as they were not that sort of group. However there was no fidgeting, not muttering, no noise at all – everyone was listening and concentrating on the words with great intensity.

I shortened the show ever so slightly so that we didn’t finish too late, but included most of it. The applause was very generous and I stood on the stage bowing not just for the evening’s show, but for the entire season, which began back on November 7 in Cambridge Ohio. It seems strange to think how nervous I was about performing A Christmas Carol back then, but the show has developed since. and is definitely better now than it was in 2014.

Many members of the audience wanted to chat after the show, including a couple that Liz and I had met on a cruise ship many years ago, and with whom Liz had watched the show.

We said our final goodbyes to Derek and Michael and entered a new phase in my life. In 2016 I will write new shows and think of new ways to promote myself in England, hopefully working with my brother Ian and using his brilliant marketing talent; but for now I can relax and rest and reflect on 52 performances of A Christmas Carol, each one performed to the very best of my ability.

And with that, I shall leave you to your New Year’s Celebrations. Thank you for all of your support throughout this year, and for all the comments and gifts along the way. I look forward to chatting to you again very soon.

In an earlier blog (‘A Polite Way of Storytelling’) I opened with the sentence ‘My alarm goes off and I wake feeling ever so slightly jaded. Maybe my evening of great conviviality with Stephen and Sarah Jane was a little too convivial.’

On that occasion I was in Norfolk: there must be something about Virginia, for if I substitute Stephen and Sarah Jane for Ryan and Jeannie, the same is true today.

We surface slowly and start to pack a few things ready for our departure. This morning we are going to have breakfast at the Inn itself, rather than at the Lodge, and feel much more at home as we arrive back in the Regency Room.

We are greeted as old friends by many of the staff and receive nods of recognition from guests who were in the audience last night.

One of the waiters, Don – who has been at Williamsburg for as long as I can remember – comes to the table to chat. Don is a giant of a man, he must be 6’4 at least, and he moves slowly, with great deliberation; when he serves he does so with deep concentration, as if the fear of making a mistake is too huge to bear. He loves to talk, and loves the shows, and tries to watch as many as he can, meaning that he is well versed in the lines. Apparently yesterday when the sound man turned up and wanted to check that the microphone was working correctly Don immediately volunteered to stand in for me and had his moment centre stage repeating the words of Charles Dickens. I would have paid anything to have seen that!

Don’s eyes are sparkling as he recounts the story, but as we talk Leroy, the Maitre D’ comes across the restaurant and reminds Don that he is still working and needs to get on: ‘If I didn’t rescue you he would keep talking to you all morning!’

Leroy is another amazing man and the Regency Room would be a faint imitation of itself without him at the helm. Leroy is short of stature but with a ram-rod-backed military demeanour. For the past few years he has been talking about retiring, which is a terrible thought for the restaurant. As we chat he tells us about his grandson in Houston, who he misses profusely; and a sensitive, loving, caring soul is shown to us. It is a moving moment in which Leroy becomes our close personal friend rather than a Williamsburg employee. Retire! Definitely!

It is a feature of my tours that along the way so many kind, generous, warm, sensitive, talented and fascinating people touch my life and I feel truly grateful for being given the opportunity to meet them.

We finish our breakfast, and after a final farewell hug from Leroy we return to our room to finish packing. The journey today takes us to the little riverside town of Occoquan which lies to the south of Washington DC. We get on the road and settle in for a 2 hour journey that features no corners to speak of. The I295 cuts its arrow-like route through the Virginian woodland, taking us past the Marine Corps base at Quantico.

The I295 becomes the I95, which seems to feature a great deal on my tour running, as it does, for the entire length of the eastern seaboard. To alleviate the massive DC commuter traffic a toll expressway has been built alongside. The Expressway is only open in the rush hours, but now lays silent. To prevent cars using it a series of barriers are down – there must be at least twelve of them at each intersection, and it would be a fantastic scene for a car chase in a Bond, Mission Impossible of Bourne movie. I can see the flimsy poles being pinged into the air one after another as our hero chases down some villainous crook, hell-bent on world domination.

Shortly before 1pm we turn off 95 and head into the little town of Occoquan, where we park next to my venue for today’s shows, The Ebenezer Chapel. The car park is almost full and people are already streaming into the chapel even though my show is not for another hour.

The events of the day are actually put on by The Golden Goose Christmas store, which is a short stroll along Main Street. Occoquan is such a beautiful little town, with the houses looking like models that have been carefully constructed and painted. The Golden Goose is elaborately decorated with swathes of fir and huge Christmas ornaments. As soon as we enter we are greeted by Pat, who owns the store along with LaVerne – they are both further examples of the good and kindly people that we are fortunate to know.

We are ushered into the little back office to relax, and Pat arranges for a quick lunch to be brought in for us: a salad for me and a sandwich for Liz. If there could be a blueprint for the perfect pre-show lunchtime salad, this would be it: simple, healthy and tasty.

I get changed in the stockroom and just before 2 we walk along the street back to the chapel. It is only a small hall, but it is full. Almost an entire side is taken up by a group from the Red Hat Brigade, looking resplendent in a variety of scarlet headwear and purple tops. They are always a fun crowd to perform to, and I have my special ‘red hat’ ad-lib (that they have all heard many times before), ready up my sleeve.

LaVerne makes a wonderful introduction, which includes showing us her old family copy of A Christmas Carol printed in 1900, and I begin my penultimate performance of this year’s USA tour.

From the very start I know this is going to be a fantastic show – not a good one, but a fantastic one. The relationship between me and the audience is electric and every moment works perfectly. The laughter rings from the Ebenezer Chapel, and there are not just sniffles to accompany Tiny Tim’s death but loud, uncontrolled sobs.

On Christmas morning Scrooge makes his way through the crowds wishing everyone Merry Christmas, until he catches sight of the Red Hatters: ‘Hmm, I think that you should shop in different stores to one another!’ A huge guffaw of laughter and a round applause greets the line; and another one follows when Scrooge goes to church and realises that ‘they even named it after me!’ They are both old well used ‘ad libs’, but the audience at Occoquan look forward to them as much as ‘God Bless Us, Every One.’

If I could bottle up the joyfulness within the Ebenezer Chapel this afternoon and sell it, I would be a rich man indeed. When, at the end of the show, I stand at the door to say goodbye to everyone there is a most amazing sense of Christmas energy flowing into the streets. It is an unbelievably precious moment, and both Liz and I are moved to the point of tears.

When the audience has left the Church we walk back to the store for the signing session. Liz sits in the office and I make my way through the displays of trees and ornaments to a small room at the back of the shop. The Christmas Spirit is still alive and well, and everyone is happy.

When the signing finishes I just have time to change before we are taken out to supper by Jean, her husband Peter and Joe, all friends of Pat and LaVerne, who have become my regular dinner companions here for the last few years.

Jean is an avid fan of British television, and chats eagerly to Liz about the final season of Downton Abbey, as well as series that are less well-known in the USA such as Granchester and the original version of House of Cards.

Joe and I talk about Washington DC, and what Liz and I could see on our day of tourism tomorrow – he suggests many things, including the Smithsonian Museum of American History on the Mall, which sounds fascinating.

Time rushes on all too quickly, and soon I am changed and ready for the final performance. The chance of it being anything like this afternoon’s adventure is slim, but I want to go out on a high note, nonetheless.

Back at Ebenezer the audience are packed in once more. LaVerne makes her introduction and for the final time on US soil this year I say ‘Marley was dead, to begin with!’

Right from the start I know that I am a little slow and slightly fatigued, but certainly not badly so. The show is going well enough, and the pace is beginning to return when I am aware of movement in the audience. A gentleman sitting about four rows back is obviously not feeling well, and the people around him are trying to help. I keep an eye on proceedings, in case I need to stop the show, meaning that I am performing on automatic pilot, just letting the words continue.

Then the man slumps forward, and his companions, lift him up, and manage to get him to his feet and lead him out of the little hall. Of course the audience are watching this drama unfold, which is just as well, because my continuing narration has become devoid of any real emotion now.

With the patient out of the hall (followed by LaVerne, Liz and another member of the Golden Goose staff), faces turn back to me, and we all settle down to return to the story once more. I give myself a metaphorical kick with metaphorical spurs, and metaphorically break out of a trot to gallop once more.

From this point on my performance starts to gather rhythm and energy once more – even when the wailing cry of the ambulance is heard outside, and the red lights flash through the stained glass windows directly in my eye line.

Liz and LaVerne are back in the hall, so I assume that things are as good as they can be, and the flashing lights are a permanent reminder that the gentleman is in good hands.

I get to the end of the show, and to the end of the tour – not quite the easiest of performances with which to finish, but a good reminder that you can never relax until the fat lady has sung (or the little boy has God Blessed).

At the back of the hall I ascertain from LaVerne that the gentleman fainted, and was thoroughly checked over by the paramedics, but refused to go in the ambulance to hospital. It is a huge relief that the situation was not more serious.

Back at the store the signing line is less frantic than earlier (a lot of the second audience had joined the first audience’s queue earlier), and in no time I am changing back into my normal clothes again. The Frock coats and waistcoats can be hung up for the last time – well, for three days, as I have a series of performances in the UK, but for now there is a definite feeling of closure

We say good bye to Pat and LaVerne and wish them well for Christmas and the New Year, until we meet again in this magical shop in this magical town. As we walk to the car Christmas lights are twinkling from gables and windows. Some are white, some coloured, some subtle, some bold; some outside, some in. Yes, Occoquan is definitely magical tonight.

After dropping my costumes and bags into our car, we walk to Madigan’s restaurant and bar where we order two deserts and a bottle of wine, and we quietly toast the conclusion of another successful USA tour.

This will not be the final blog post of this year for I shall look back over the tour soon; but for now:

The tour is certainly getting towards its closing stages now, with just today and tomorrow left: four more ‘Marley was dead, to begin withs’ and eight more ‘God bless us every ones’.

We both wake at around 6.30 and I sit at the desk writing, while Liz reads in bed. When the blog post is finished and posted we make our way across a courtyard into the main building at The Williamsburg Lodge. The sky is bright blue and temperature is already climbing – it must be in the high 60s if not in the 70s already.

It is so busy in the restaurant that we have to put our name on a list, so that we can be called when there is space for us. The lady at the podium doesn’t quite here our name correctly, and we temporarily become Dixon, party of two.

After a short wait Mr and Mrs Dixon are called and we are shown to a table, where we are handed a menu but decide to avail ourselves of the buffet. One of the great highlights of touring is the breakfast buffet at the Williamsburg Inn, and sadly the Lodge’s efforts do not come close. As with everything here it is perfectly good and would rate well in any other hotel, but we know what is just over the parking lot. We decide that tomorrow we shall sneak to the Inn and treat ourselves to the luxurious fare that will be on offer.

Following breakfast we need to pick up a rental car from the local Hertz dealership. We should have collected a car from Richmond yesterday, but of course all of our plans became mangled with the flight cancellations and delays.

We take a short cab ride, which takes us past the campus of William and Mary College, which is truly impressive, and to a small retail park on the edge of the town. The Hertz office is tiny and the first car they offer us does not have a sat nav unit fitted, which will make things very difficult. However a larger car has recently been returned, and if we don’t mind waiting it can be cleaned for us.

As we sit and wait Liz picks up a copy of The Original Virginia Magazine, and we flick through the advertisements. One in particular catches the eye: ‘Serendipity: The Largest Flag Shop On The East Coast!’ Suddenly I have an urge to visit this vast emporium, and the advertisement promises even more when it says: ‘Flagpoles and Accessories!’ Liz points out, there can’t be that many accessories available, other than rope and a little cleat to wind it round.

As much as we want to experience the largest flag shop on the east coast (which, by the way, suggests that there must be a larger one either in the mid west or on the west coast), we decide instead to return to the historic region of Colonial Williamsburg.

When we reach the hotel there is a message waiting on our phone which is from Hertz, saying that the previous renter of our Ford Fusion thinks that he left his spectacles in the car and could we look for them. We are more than happy to do so, because actually we are in the same situation. Liz lost her glasses somewhere (either in Winterthur or Chalfont) and we are anxiously waiting to see if anybody has found them, so it is the least we can do to help this unknown gentleman in his quest.

The first search of the car proves unsuccessful, but a call to Hertz prompts us to look in the secret sunglasses compartment built into the roof, and there they are. We leave the glasses at the front desk for collection, and hope that we may have the same good fortune.

Our walk along the Duke of Gloucester Street is wonderful. The mix between the historic buildings inhabited by costumed characters, and the modern camera-toting tourists is confusing, but somehow it works. Horse-drawn coaches with liveried footmen make their way slowly along the street, and demure ladies in bonnets nod and bob their greetings to the baseball cap-wearing passengers within.

We visit one of the stores on the street, and buy a few small items to take home with us, and as we are paying we notice a pair of circular spectacles on the counter. I have often wanted Scrooge to have glasses, and we ponder for a while as to whether we should make the purchase. The arms are hinged and loose, but they can be tightened up easily enough. The glass is a reading prescription, making everything blurry to me, but I can peer over the top of them in a very Scroogy way. The man behind the counter, in full costume, asks what they are for and we explain about the show. ‘Are you Gerald Dickens? I saw you perform in St Paul, Minnesota many years ago!’

In the end we decide to buy them and I will see how they work during today’s performances.

We walk on until we reach our favourite place – the Colonial Garden, which sells horticultural wares, both living and manmade. The main part of the plot is planted with vegetables, whilst the store area is beneath a canvas cover carefully tied to tree branches, which in turn are lashed together in such a way as to create a sturdy frame.

Browsing

There are elaborate Christmas wreathes and table centres artistically made with fir and dried fruits, and there are the raw materials so that one can attempt to make them oneself. There are iron gardening tools and there are terracotta pots. It is a great store and so photogenic. Over the years I must have taken more photographs per square metre here than anywhere else in the country.

The morning is moving on, and we need to buy some lunch before I go to the Inn to prepare for my first show. There is a good delicatessen next to the Fat Canary restaurant, and we buy a simple salad for me and a sandwich for Liz to take back to the hotel.

My first commitment at the Inn is for a sound check and a meeting with the banqueting staff to make sure that the tea performance runs smoothly. The Regency Room is once again set up to capacity, but today I know that every seat will be filled. Many of the staff are old friends and we chat as they set the tables.

Michele DeRosa arrives (I’m never quite sure what her position in the hotel is, but she looks after my events each year) and we discuss the logistics of the day. The tea guests will be seated at 2.15 and served, I will then begin A Christmas Carol, but will pause the performance after the Ghost of Christmas Past has done her thing, so that the teapots can be refreshed. I ask Michele if there is a room where I can change, and she shows me to an overflow dining room: It is the most lavish dressing room I have ever had, filled with antique furniture and 17th Century Chinese porcelain.

With all of the plans laid and agreed upon, I go back to the Lodge. Liz isn’t coming to the afternoon show, but is going to make the most of the beautiful day and surroundings. I get my costumes together, and we leave the room together. I must say that the idea of being a tourist this afternoon is rather appealing!

At the Inn the audience are gathering and the corridor to the Regency Room is already packed as I enter my dressing room. I get myself ready and put on my hat and scarf, not forgetting the new glasses, then go to the dining room which is alive with laughter and chatter.

Ryan Fletcher takes to the stage and welcomes the crowd, asking how many have seen the show before. The response is astounding – it must be at least 80% of the room, and a round of applause breaks out. Goodness, with an approval rating like that I should be running in the forthcoming primaries, which are so energising the nation currently.

Ryan is as mellifluous and articulate as ever and as he completes his remarks the music starts and I make my way slowly through the tables (slowly and somewhat myopically, as I can’t really focus on anything very effectively).

The audience is a good one (as you would expect from such a loyal group), and we have a lot of fun. The glasses are a slight hindrance, and I need to think how best to use them. My plan had been for Scrooge to wear them throughout the first scene and then discard them when he first falls asleep: thereby meaning that he never wears them in the supernatural world, only in the real one. However, that means that Fred and Bob (as well as the charity collector and carol singer, who don’t appear in the shortened tea show) will have them too: a new project for me to work on, which is always, fun.

At the end of the performance I change and then sit in the lobby to sign. The line is long, and many people have multiple books to be inscribed with complicate dedications (which is always the case as we get closer to Christmas).

But lurking back in line is one of the most wonderful treats in the shape of the Secaur family who lavish gifts on me. Firstly there is a collection of linens, embroided by mother Mary (the mother of the family is called Mary – she is not a Mother Superior from a local convent). Each piece has a wreath of green thread and spiralling within it is the quote: ‘I shall honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. I shall live in the past, the present and the future, the spirits of all three shall strive within me’.

The family, and most especially daughter Meredith, have been following my adventures through the blog and so my next gifts are based on the tour: a pair of clothes-peg figures, which Meredith has made to represent Charles Dickens and me (one has more hair than the other…). ‘My’ figure also has a detachable scarf that can be left in as many venues as the real thing. So funny! There is also a book on The Gettysburg Address and other writings by Abraham Lincoln, following my visit to the battlefield there.

Thank you so much to Mary, Robert, Elizabeth and most especially Meredith – your thoughtfulness and attention to detail is very moving indeed.

The signing line lasts a long time, and eventually members of the evening audience start arriving and joining in, so I eventually have to absent myself and get a small amount of down time, before all of the craziness starts again.

I return to the room, where Liz is getting a little concerned by my prolonged absence. She has spent the afternoon at The Williamsburg Art Museum, which sounds wonderful and is definitely a place that I would like to visit in future years.

I have just time for a bath and shower to re-energise, before it is time to return to the Inn and get ready for the dinner show. I leave slightly before Liz, so that I can change into costume again. As I walk into the lobby there is a group of carol singers gathered around the Christmas tree and I am delighted to see that it is Ryan’s group. For all of the years of my visits to Williamsburg Ryan and I have shared the camaraderie of fellow performers, but I have never heard him sing, or seen him on stage. The quintet fills the lobby with the most beautiful sounds, and it is a perfect welcome for the many guests who are pouring into the hotel.

I go and change and when I return Liz is there, so we stand together and listen to the very end of ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ before congratulating the group and posing for photographs with them.

The evening’s performance will follow a three course dinner. I used to perform between courses, but the format is one that I find very tiring and difficult, not to mention being hard on the kitchen and waiting staff, so about three years ago I suggested that we reverted to a more traditional dinner theatre format. Many guests miss the old way, I know, but I’m too old to leap up and down over and over again these days.

Liz and I are sat with Ryan and his wife Jeane, as well as a few other guests. Conversation through dinner is fun, although both Liz and I are aware that I must spare my voice, so as to be ready for the vocal work-out that is to follow. I am careful as to what I eat, and leave most of the delicious crab soup, as it has a high cream content: cream/throat/performance – not a good mix.

When the desserts have been placed, and glasses refilled it is time to sing for my supper. As with this afternoon many of the audience are regular attendees, which makes everything much easier.

I am tired, I can feel that I am tired, but the show goes well. Some of the voices are not quite as crisp as they were a few weeks ago, and some of the moves are not quite so energetic (although I try to leap high as Mr Fezziwig, because Ryan told me that he always likes that part). When I get to the end I feel as if I could not go on another five minutes, for today the tank is at empty.

There is still signing to be done, and the line is immense! Liz, Ryan and Jeane go to the bar and I say that I will join them as soon as I can, but the enthusiastic audience are keen to talk. A few ask ‘why don’t you do it the old way, between courses – that was my favourite’, or ‘why don’t the waiters parade the flaming pudding, I loved that part’ or ‘Why do you not say the family grace before the first course – I miss that’, but on the whole people have enjoyed the evening exactly as it is and congratulate me.

Eventually I am able to make my way to the bar, where Liz, Jeane and Ryan are enjoying a glass of wine, and have one waiting for me. Also in the bar is my old friend Christine, who used to work at the Inn, and her husband Erich who are sharing a table with Leroy, the Maitre D’ of The Regency Room, who has run my events with military precision for as long as I can remember. Today it is his birthday and he has actually attended the dinner with his wife.

We all chat and gossip, until, as always seems to be the way in Williamsburg, we are the last ones left in the bar, patiently watched over by Mark the bar tender.

We realise that it is time to leave and another fifteen minutes passes as we all hug our various goodbyes.

Liz and I pack up my costumes and props and make our way back to the Lodge (oh, how much easier it would have been if we had a room at the Inn). Between us we muster enough energy to hang the costumes up, and get ready for bed before complete fatigue overwhelms us and sleep comes to take us both.

Here we go again: It is time to move on, and our luxurious time in the Historical Hotel Bethlehem is coming to end all too soon. The alarm rings us awake at 5.15 and we both get up before falling back to sleep.

For the first time in a week I have to carefully pack my case to include my top hat and cane, which I do while Liz showers and gets ready. When she is finished in the bathroom we swap and by 6.00 we are both prepared for the day ahead.

As we have been driving Bob and Pam’s Volvo during our Pennsylvanian trip it has been arranged that Bob will drive Pam to meet us at the hotel, and drive us to Philadelphia airport, from where she can easily drive home again.

We have a somewhat bleary-eyed reunion among the beautiful lobby decorations and, with the help of the man behind the front desk, discover that our flight to Richmond Virginia will be flying from Terminal F – a tiny alarm bell rings somewhere deep in my mind, as I remember the day in September when I was stuck at Philly (in F) for an entire day.

We load the car and Bob says his farewells to us both. Liz sits in the front with Pam, while I sit in the back and try something new: writing my blog on my phone. There will be lots of spelling mistakes (even more than usual) but at least I am getting something down that I can email to myself at the airport and finish.

There is thick fog this morning, but Pam (assisted by Liz’s navigation) makes good time to Philadelphia and we arrive at the airport at around 8am, with plenty of time to check in and have breakfast. I close my Word document on the phone and we unload the car, before hugging Pam for the final time this year.

Check in and security is un-problematic (although Liz’s case requires an extra search), and we are soon in the terminal where we check the monitors: our flight to Richmond is delayed by about an hour and, more worryingly, the previous Richmond flight had been cancelled. Good old terminal F.

We walk to the central food court, which serves as a hub to the three spokes of terminal F, and sit at a restaurant I now know well, where we order a large breakfast each, which we can spend plenty of time over.

After browsing in some of the shops (Liz spends plenty of time looking at organic skin and hair treatments, while I look at a carry-on bag mounted on a little scooter), we walk all the way down one of the spokes to gate 23, from where our flight will depart. No plane. We sit patiently: the fog is playing havoc with the schedules and planes are not where they are supposed to be. Eventually an announcement is made to say that as gate 23 is still waiting for a different inbound flight, the Richmond passengers now need to go to gate 4, which is all the way up our spoke, and all the way down the opposite one. At 4 we are quickly re-located to 2, and after twenty minutes or so a further announcement sends us to gate 21 (yes, that’s right, all the way down the first spoke again). We sit patiently at 2 for a few more minutes until the inevitable announcement is made: ‘For passengers flying to Richmond, we regret to announce that the flight has been cancelled. Please make your way to the American Airlines desk next to gate 37 for re-booking’ Gate 37 is at the far end of the third spoke, so we have now covered every inch of terminal F.

As we stand in line I call Pam and Bob, and they get to work on dealing with the situation from their end, while we wait to see what American Airways can do for us. It is looking tight for my show that is due to begin at 3pm. Bob calls back, there is one flight to Norfolk, Virginia, but there is only one seat on that – however it will get me there in time to drive to Williamsburg and perform. Three years ago Liz and I stood on the same spot, in the same situation, and I had to leave her behind to perform: we definitely do NOT want to do the same this year – although in the end I am here to work and if that is the only way to get to a show, then we will have to.

While Bob works on the airline schedules, Pam contacts Williamsburg to explain the situation to them. When Liz and I reach the desk the American Airlines agent couldn’t be more helpful. We explain the need to get to Williamsburg in time for my performance, and she does a detailed search of all the airports in that part of Virginia. Initially she comes up with the Norfolk flight that Bob had found, but even as she looks the final seat goes, thereby solving the issue of us being separated.

With more tapping she discovers a flight to the tiny airport at Newport News, which is very close to Williamsburg, and manages to book us, and our bags, onto that. It is due to leave at 1pm, arriving at 2, and then a twenty five minute journey to The Williamsburg Inn. It will be tight but doable.

I call Bob with the good news, and after a few minutes Pam calls to say that the Inn will send a car to pick us up. We can relax again.

As we sit at the gate I remember the unfinished blog on my phone, but when I open up the Word file has gone. I couldn’t have saved it properly when we arrived earlier, and my great words of wisdom have been cast aside forever. As we sit at the gate waiting for our plane to arrive (now showing as delayed by twenty five minutes), I start typing again.

Eventually the inbound flight pulls up at the gate and disgorges its passengers, meaning that we will soon be boarding. Amazingly I have reached exactly the same point in my recollections of the previous day as I had when we pulled up at the airport all those hours ago.

Our plane is packed, which is not surprising as two Richmond flights have been cancelled and all of those passengers need to be in Virginia. I settle into my seat and watch another episode of House of Cards, while Liz sits two rows behind and reads.

The flight is very short, and soon we are skimming the woodlands of Virginia and landing at Newport News. It is 2.15.

In the baggage claim area we are hoping to see a driver with a sign saying ‘Dickens’ or ‘Williamsburg Inn’, but there is no such sign, which is worrying. As we stand I look anxiously towards the door, hoping that a driver will appear. Near the main entrance there is one suited older gentleman who watches the proceedings unfold, and eventually he walks to us and says ‘are you Mr Dickinson? I thought it must be you, from the worried way you were looking round. I am Howard Smith, your driver’ It seems an odd way of meeting passengers – just to wait until you work out who is looking most nervous.

Mr Smith has a huge black Suburban, with blacked out windows, meaning that we look like part of a presidential motorcade as we swish out of the airport. We explain the situation to him, and he eases his foot down a little further, meaning that the huge V8 engine (actually it may be more than that), pushes us onward with greater urgency.

We reach the Inn at 3pm, and as we climb down from the car we are met by our old friend Ryan Fletcher who introduces me at the Williamsburg events. He is already in costume and ready to go. In the hotel there is some confusion as to what is happening; we are actually not staying here but at another hotel in the group, The Williamsburg Lodge. However with the performance so imminent I need a room to change in: people scurry here and there until eventually I am shown to an empty guest room (it doesn’t need to be empty, we would quite happily stay in it, surrounded by the kind of luxury enjoyed by the Queen when she stayed here).

Liz takes her bags over to the Lodge to check in, and I change as fast as I can, before going to the Regency Room, which must be one of the most elegant hotel restaurants in the world. The room is set out for a tea service for around 100 guests, but there are only about thirty seated when I arrive.

My show this afternoon is a private one, for the USA Chamber of Commerce from Washington DC. The hotel has invited the group to spend time here and to have the run of the facilities, in the hope that these powerful business men and women will book conferences and meetings in the future: my show is just a small part of the entertainment package laid on for them.

With so few guests here, I can see that the start will be late and am greatly surprised when Ryan gets up to begin his announcements. Thirty it is, then. Seventy delicious servings of tea will go to waste and the room will feel very empty.

My performing area is a large dance floor in the centre of the room, with the tables arranged around it. It really is difficult to get myself up for this performance, after the mad start to the day. The guests (including quite a few young children) are very quiet, yet very attentive. This is not a show for audience participation, so no ‘oooohs’, and ‘ahhhh’s’ over Mrs Cratchit’s pudding, and no ‘nooooo Bobs’ on Boxing Day morning. There is however a suitably blushing Topper’s girl, who joins in, even to the extent of loudly repeating the line ‘It’s not fair!’ which is good.

Actually the performance is a good test for me, as I am determined not to let myself just go through the motions and get it finished and out the way. The audience may be small, and spread widely across the room, but they are there, and listening closely: they deserve every bit as much effort as the seven hundred at Byers Choice two days ago.

When the show finishes all of the guests clap very loudly, and as I stand at the door with Liz they all shake my hand and thank me so much for performing for them. Children and adults alike are excited and there are lots of ‘that has really put me into the Christmas spirit’ comments.

I sign a few books, and pose for a few photographs, before returning to my swish ‘changing room’.

Liz walks me over to the Lodge and takes me to our room, which in any other hotel would be grand, if only we didn’t know what life is like at the Inn itself! In previous years we have always stayed at the Inn and it is amazing how used you become to luxury.

I change and at last am able to finish and post the Bethlehem blog before having a nice hot bath.

When we were in Chalfont Bob had suggested a very good restaurant in Williamsburg, and Liz has managed to get a reservation for us at The Fat Canary at 8pm. It is only a ten minute walk, so we stroll in the warm night air hand in hand, enjoying the historic surroundings of Colonial Williamsburg, until we are brought sharply up to date by the bright garish appearance of an ice rink, with modern holiday songs blaring out. There is a modern tourist kiosk next to it, and it all seems very out of place here.

The Fat Canary is a wonderful modern restaurant, with an imaginative menu. We order a bottle of Viognier from the Williamsburg Winery and settle down to share a wonderful evening together: no shows, no audiences, and no commitments. No Gerald Charles Dickens and his wife. No, this just us, Liz and Gerald enjoying each other’s company and having a perfect evening.

I wake fairly early this morning, and as we have no commitments for a few hours I let Liz sleep on while I set to writing two days worth of blog posts.

After completing the first day I decide that coffee is needed, so get dressed to make my way to the front desk where the coffee machine is kept.

At this hour I am in a rather dishevelled state, so am grateful to discover that the breakfast buffet (including a pot of freshly brewed coffee) is being laid out in our building. I am filling two cups when the lady who is responsible for the breakfast suddenly notices me and cries out: ‘Wow! It’s you! I saw your show last night. Oh, my! All of those characters! How do you do it?’ It is difficult to maintain decorum when the bags under one’s eyes are so heavy that they would attract excess baggage charges, and one’s hair is sticking out horizontally. I try to be as suave and grateful as I can, but probably fail.

Back in the room I finish writing, and we get ready to return downstairs for breakfast. A Joseph Ambler breakfast buffet is a wonderful thing, and we both enjoy a plate of fresh fruit, before embarking on scrambled eggs and bacon.

We need to be on the road at 10am, so we finish packing and load the car up ready for the next leg of our adventure. As I check out there is a lady fussing over the Christmas decorations and I ask her if she is responsible for dressing the entire inn, to which she answers yes. I tell her what an amazing job she has done: her face lights up with one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen. As I leave I say ‘Merry Christmas’, to which she replies ‘Straight back at ya!’

It is another warm spring-like day, and the drive is easy. At one intersection we are sat behind a fire truck, and we talk about how perfectly – well – American the large utilitarian vehicles are here: fire trucks, school busses, Mac and Peterbilt tractor units are all so chunky and purposeful. Liz says that it is as if the designer took his childhood Tonka Toy and made it for real – and that is exactly how this fire tender looks.

Within an hour we are dropping down the steep hill towards Bethlehem and passing the classic golden arches of a McDonalds restaurant that looks as if it hasn’t changed since the 1950s.

Our destination is the Historic Hotel Bethlehem, which is a major social hub in the self-styled Christmas City. The lobby is packed as we arrive, with a huge, elegantly attired crowd enjoying a lavish brunch. As we drag our cases through the throng, a musical duo (piano and violin) are playing ‘The Streets of London’, which seems very apt for our arrival.

It is only 11.15 and not surprisingly our room is not ready, so we decide to sit in the bar and have a cup of coffee before heading to the theatre.

As is often the case on tour, our eating times will be a bit of a lottery, but now Liz is here she takes much more care of my dietary needs than I do alone, and insists we get something to eat before the first show. We decide to go to the café in the Moravian Bookstore (which sponsors my events here). As soon as we walk through the door we bump into Lisa Girard who has been running my shows for 5 years or so. Liz has been to Bethlehem on a few occasions and Lisa is delighted to see her back again this year. As we all chat I notice a slim wooden stool that is part of a Crabtree and Evelyn display which would be perfect on my set.

Our plans for lunch have to change when Lisa tells us that the café has been replaced by a bar specialising in mead – probably not the perfect preparation for a show. Lisa directs us to another café a few doors away.

As we walk up the street the air is filled with a wonderful cacophony of festive sounds: piped Christmas music is playing through speakers carefully hidden among the twinkling branches of the trees; on a street corner a trumpeter plays and there is the clop of horses’ hooves as they pull open carriages. I have mentioned a few times that I have struggled to feel Christmassy on this trip, due to the unseasonably warm weather, but Bethlehem is doing its best to remedy that (even though the temperature is close to 70)

Having bought a couple of sandwiches and some fruit we walk to the theatre, which is part of the Moravian College, where we are greeted by our old friend Blair, who looks after the technical side of my shows.

Lisa is on the stage putting furniture in place, and making sure that the fireplace has a genuine, working, fake-fire on the hearth.

I tentatively bring up the issue of the musical opening, but Blair can easily play my CD through the sound system, and there is a central aisle down which I can make my entrance, which should prove very atmospheric. Blair can’t control the lighting from his desk, so Lisa will be stationed in the wings to bring the stage lights up when the fourth ‘bong’ has sounded.

The only stools in the hall are metal, and rather unsuitable, so I mention to Lisa the one I’d spotted earlier: she goes to the book store to fetch it and we go back to the hotel, which is only a five minute walk. I get a few things that I need from my bag, before going back to the theatre and Liz stays at the hotel, as our room is almost ready and she can check in for us.

Back in my dressing room I get changed and mooch around for a bit, until Liz returns and we chat with Lisa backstage. I am performing in the Foy Hall, which is where the music faculty gives their orchestral concerts. Behind the scenes there is a large gong, which I wish I could include in the show (J Arthur Rank presents…..BONNNNGGGGGG!!!!). There is a huge base drum as well as a glockenspiel and xylophone – the possibilities are endless.

The audience starts to arrive, and it is a big one – around three hundred, and they will fill the whole lower tier of the concert hall, which will make for a good atmosphere. Gradually the hall fills up and 1 o’clock approaches.

I am always introduced here by Kristy, who works at the book store, and as usual she is dressed in a spectacular Victorian dress. Lisa goes to her lighting post in the wings, I go to the back of the hall and Kristy gets nervous.

Kristy’s introduction is well written and delivered: she has taken our standard welcome remarks and made them very much her own – it is a good start to the show. The houselights dim to nothing, and so do the stage lights. The music starts and I try to make my way down the steep steps through the audience to stage level, without falling flat on my face. As I get to the stage the lights come up – maybe we need to re-think that for this evening.

The audience are wonderful, and give the show energy, creating a strong performance which, in turn, enthuses the audience even more: it is whatever the opposite of a vicious circle is.

The routine is slightly different in Bethlehem, as the signing session is back in the Book store, so I change at the theatre, before walking back through the streets again. There is quite a line waiting for me, but Lisa runs the session with military precision: making sure that every book is open to the correct page, and that photographs are taken with a minimum of delay. The result of all this efficiency is that the last book is signed after only about half an hour.

Liz has been browsing in the shop, and together we walk to the hotel, where I can relax for a couple of hours. We put the TV on and try to find Christmas films to watch, finally settling on Santa Claus 3: The Escape Claus. While we are watching I suddenly become aware of music from outside, and we look out of our window to see crowds gathering around The Central Moravian Church ready for Vespers. In the bell tower, high above the street, a trombone ensemble are playing carols. It is beautiful. We leave the window open (having nearly dropped the metal fly screen onto the roof below), and let the sounds of Bethlehem float in to our room: as well as the music, there is a deep throaty rumble of a Harley Davidson and the evocative hooting of a train heading for some distant destination.

My rest time passes all too quickly and after a long hot soak in a bath, I get ready for the evening show.

Blair is involved in the Vespers service, so the sound and lighting is being looked after by Chris this evening. We discuss the opening, and get the light levels set to create the eerie atmosphere that we are looking for, but without sending me plummeting onto the stage as I trip in the dark.

The corridor behind the auditorium is lined with lockers in which the students can store their musical instruments: small narrow ones for trumpets and violins, and large wide ones for tubas and euphoniums. One locker is unlocked and slightly open: Liz and I peer in, to see what instrument it holds and find a Darth Vader mask and a rubber chicken: there really is nothing more to be said about the state of modern music.

The evening audience is smaller than this afternoon’s, but just as enthusiastic and I am determined to put on a good show for them (having rather let the corresponding audience down this time last year). It is a fine balancing act, as it is so easy to overstep the mark and try too hard, which is what happened twelve months ago. I am pleased with my efforts and the audience seems happy too,

After taking the applause I change, and Liz helps me to pack everything up before taking the costume and my bag to the hotel, while I return to the store for the signing ‘hour’. The line is shorter this evening and with Lisa’s help I finish in good time. I sign a few copies for the shop’s stock, and then say my goodbyes to Lisa and the team, before rejoining Liz in our room.

I change, and we go to the bar for some dinner. Many of the audience are dining there too, and one very kind gentleman offers to buy us both a glass of wine, which is so nice of him.

We order fish and chips and sit, revelling in the history and the elegance of this beautiful old hotel, lined with photographs of the famous folk who have dined here. The Christmas decorations are amazing with a massive nativity scene about the front door, and two huge Christmas trees decorated in all in white (including large glass baubles with moving stars projected from within). It is everything that a hotel should be and we both love being here.

Sadly our stay is only for one night, for tomorrow we have an early alarm call. We return to our room and find that ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ is playing again, so we watch it in bed, before turning the lights off and falling asleep.

(Please accept my apologies for the lack of a blog post yesterday: this was due to the misplacement of my laptop charger and adapter, which rendered me hors de combat for the day. Here are the last two days, which saw us travelling to be with our dear friends at Byers Choice.)

Friday, December 11

We wake at the Fairville Inn to yet another bright, warm morning. Liz’s sleep was interrupted as she started the process of acclimatising to another time zone. They say that it takes a day for each hour difference – that being so she will just about back to normal as we fly back to the UK.

We don’t have a difficult morning ahead of, so I write the blog as Liz grabs an extra hour’s sleep. At around 8am we get up and walk to the main house where we are welcomed by the Inn’s owners Laura and Rick Carro. Laura saw the show yesterday afternoon, and is fulsome in her congratulations and praise, as are another couple, who are guests at the Inn. We sit in the small dining room and have a properly prepared and cooked breakfast: no buffet tables with congealing scrambled eggs or greasy bacon here.

Although I don’t have a show until 7pm, we do have an appointment this morning, as Ellen managed to book us on a morning tour of the house at Winterthur. We repack (as ever it is astounding how much we have managed to unpack and use in the space of twelve hours) and load the car up, before saying goodbye to Laura and Rick.

It is a strange feeling to drive to ‘work’ as a tourist and as we arrive at the visitor centre it takes a great deal of effort not to go straight to my little office dressing room. Instead we take a short woodland walk to the house itself, where Ellen meets us with hugs.

The tour of Winterthur takes an hour or so, and the various rooms have been decorated to showcase spectacularly designed and prepared Christmas Trees: there is an autumnal one which glows with oranges and reds; there is a Tiffany one in purples and peacock blues; A Downton Abbey themed tree is weighed down with traditional glass ornaments, along with little bells (representing the servant’s bells) and tiaras hiding among the branches. Our particular favourite is in the conservatory, and is a massive tree decorated purely with dried summer flowers. It is a truly impressive sight and moves Liz (a passionate gardener) to tears.

The tour is very much tree-centric, and we miss being told the story of the house and art itself, but the Montmorenci Staircase (moved from a house in North Carolina and re-assembled here) is quite stunning.

After finishing the tour, and spending some time in the gift shop (where the wares of both Byers Choice and my friends at Vaillancourt Folk Art are featured), we decide to drive to Doylestown and grab some lunch there before arriving at The Byers Choice building.

The journey lasts for about an hour and sees us skirting Philadelphia, before driving into Bucks County. We are close to Chalfont, where Byers are based, and (somewhat confusingly) to North Wales where we will be staying. The charming historical town of Doylestown is not far but the traffic is very heavy. We soon realise that by the time we get there and eat it will be time to turn round again, so we decide to cut our losses, find somewhere to have lunch close by and then check in to the hotel.

I pull into a car park as we consider our options, and as the car park in question belongs to Bertucci’s Italian restaurant we decide to eat here. We share a large bowl of salad and each have a plate of spaghetti and meatballs each. It is a good, filling lunch, and should keep us going through the afternoon and evening until we can eat again, after my show.

The Joseph Ambler Inn is just a short drive away and the route takes us through a lovely, well-to-do residential area. A neighbourhood like this is so different to a corresponding one in England, in that the houses stand proudly within their plot of land, whereas back home everyone hides away behind hedges , fences and walls. If you are claustrophobic live in America, and if you suffer from agoraphobia then Britain is the place for you.

We receive a fulsome welcome at the Joseph Ambler Inn, which is a traditional Pennsylvanian country inn, with fifty two rooms spread through five historic buildings. We are staying in ‘Rose Valley’, which is a room in the main barn building, above the restaurant.

Liz lays on the bed and relaxes, while I battle with the mini ironing board, trying to get two shirts ready for this evening. These table-top ironing boards are very awkward, but the small rooms in the converted barn do not leave much room for a full-sized version.

I have a quick shower and then we re-gather our belongings ready for the short drive to the Byers Choice headquarters and visitor centre.

Byers Choice is not just another venue, it is home. I have been performing here for eleven years, and for the past seven Bob Byers has been managing my tour. He does an amazing job on my behalf and the tour quite simply would never happen without him: he secures my visa, arranges the venues, makes sure I can get from a to b in time to perform, he makes sure I have somewhere to stay. Of course all actors have agents and producers that they work with, but not all actors can say that their management are genuinely good friends, as I can.

For the past two years Bob’s wife Pam has been working closely with him and now she looks after all of the day to day logistics of the trip. In the summer Bob and Pam visited us in Abingdon and we spent a wonderful day on the River Thames and being tourists in Oxford.

We park our car and as we arrive there is a veritable reception committee to meet us – Bob and Pam are there, as well as various other staff welcoming us back. Liz has visited Byers Choice on a few previous occasions and she is welcomed back with open arms.

Almost as soon as we are in the door Wendy Stubb ushers us in to the staff canteen where a table as been set up with a huge wedding cake is laid out. Suddenly we are celebrating our wedding all over again! It is the most generous and charming gesture – we are both very moved and grateful.

Joyce Byers (Bob’s mother, whose artistry and vision lies behind the Byers Choice success story) joins the celebration, as does David who looks after all of my technical requirements here. It is the most remarkable welcome.

But there is still a show to be done, so David and I go to the theatre to get ready. The entire production are is cleared of work stations each year, a stage erected and seven hundred seats laid out. Dave rigs theatre lights and installs a sound system and suddenly a factory floor becomes a place of entertainment. Dave knows the script almost as well as I do and prides himself in using subtle lighting effects to enhance my performance.

He shows me where all of the ‘special’ lights are focussed: the most important one is a tight spotlight downstage centre which will flash up when Marley’s face appears in the door knocker, and again at the very end of the show. There is a particular pattern in the rug upon which I must stand if the light is to have its full effect.

We test the microphone for a while, but it crackles and distorts, thanks to a loose connection. We swap it for a replacement pack and all is well.

The logistics of getting nearly seven hundred people from the car park and into the theatre is huge, so seating starts an hour before the show. Liz and I retreat to my dressing room – the company’s board room, where we manage to spread ourselves out within minutes of arriving.

With twenty minutes to go we walk back to the room which is filling up now. On stage the Bucks County West High School Choir entertain the swelling audience, watched proudly by their director of music Joseph Ortz,

Bob decides to delay the start slightly as people are still being ferried from the car park, so it is not until 7.15 that he gets onto the stage to thank the choir (who have been loudly applauded), and introduce me.

As Bob leaves the stage, Dave brings my music in and bathes the stage in a cold blue light representing the cold churchyard of Marley’s grave. It is a superbly atmospheric and theatrical opening to the show.

I concentrate very hard on my performance tonight, trying to correct a few things that Liz had noticed during my performance at Winterthur last night. Liz has a superb eye and ear, and I completely trust and act on her advice. In this case she pointed out that I have been losing some of the hard consonants at the end of some words: ‘Marley was Dea…’ instead of ‘deaD’. Also some of my dramatic pauses have become too long, thereby losing any drama they may have had. I make a real effort to keep the pace up and enunciate well and as a result I am very very pleased with the performance.

The lighting is fabulous and Dave makes little changes here and there: warmer for the Cratchit’s celebrations, cooler as the Ghost of Christmas Present slowly ages, and positively chilly for the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

The response from the audience is quite amazing, with seven hundred people standing and cheering. Goodness, what a fine life I lead!

Of course a large audience makes for a long signing line, and having changed in the boardroom I make my way through the company museum to settle into a comfy chair, behind a smart desk. The patience of audience members is amazing, as they wait in line. Pam does a great job chatting to everyone and making them feel special.

After about forty minutes Bob appears with a tray of water, and walks along the line handing them out, he is followed a few minutes later by Joyce carrying a trash can for the empty cups. Those moments sum up Byers Choice completely – Bob could easily have snapped his fingers for an employee to distribute water and provide the rubbish bin, but that is not the sort of people the Byers are.

Time is moving on and Liz is patiently waiting for me to finish. By the time we get back to the hotel the restaurant will be closed and so she and Bob phone ahead to ask them to put a couple of sandwiches aside. There follows the most remarkably obstructive and difficult phone call as the staff at The Joseph Ambler Inn claim not to know of Gerald Dickens or Byers Choice. It is unlike the Inn and rather disappointing.

When we finally get back to the hotel we are rather grudgingly told that our sandwiches are at the front desk as ‘we had to put them somewhere!’ The level of service has descended to those of an English hotel.

We fetch our boxed sandwiches and take them to the bar, where the staff are cheerful and welcoming, which restores our faith once again. Bob and Liz must just have caught someone at a bad moment in a bad day.

The sandwiches are delicious, and we slowly wind down, before climbing the stairs to ‘Rose Valley’ and getting ready for bed.

Saturday, December 12

We both sleep well, apart from being woken at 2am by a somewhat loud, and presumably well lubricated, reveller who can’t find her room key and feels the need to call to a companion who must be in the adjoining county, judging by the volume of the conversation.

When I wake at 6 I start to write the blog but it is now that I discover that the laptop’s power lead is in my bag at Byers Choice. Liz fetches us both a cup of coffee from the front desk, and we slowly prepare for the morning.

Although the Joseph Ambler Inn serves a superb breakfast we are meeting Bob and Pam in Doylestown this morning. Our assignation is to be at the Cross Keys Diner, which is full and noisy. Bob and Pam are splendidly off duty in their Penn State sweatshirts, and it is nice for all of us to be away from work.

Coffees are brought in a collection of randomly selected mugs (mine bears the legend ‘I Love my Grandpa’ and Liz’s is from a local garage.)

We both order pancakes and syrup, while Pam selects Scrapple, a great Pennsylvania breakfast delicacy. ‘What is Scrapple?’ we ask. From the outset her description doesn’t sell the concept to us at all. It is made from all the bits of pig that are unusable for anything else, which are mushed up with cornmeal, boiled and finally fried. We decide to stick with the pancakes (although of course we come from the nation where black pudding and haggis are revered)

The portions, as one would expect from an American diner are huge and defeat us completely, but it has been a lovely way to start the day.

Pam says that she will drive us into the centre of Doylestown, so that we can explore before driving back to Byers Choice for the matinee performance. Before dropping us off she takes us to chez Byers to show off her ‘Bunny Garden’ a little enclosure that is the home to Budda and Summer.

In The Bunny Garden with Budda

Pam is creating quite the homestead here, as there is also a large chicken run, complete with strutting cockerel.

In Doylestown itself Liz and I spend an hour or so looking into various shops, and particularly spending far too long in the book store. We but lots of little trinkets – some of which will become Christmas presents for others – but mostly for us. We also find a copy of Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit, which we buy for Pam and Bob.

We have to be back at HQ at around 11am, as the 1pm show is even busier than last night, so the seating has to begin early.

I do a quick sound check with Dave and make sure that the stage is set correctly, before handing the room over to Bob and the front of house team. Liz and I sit quietly in the boardroom, reading (in her case) and playing backgammon (in mine). Soon it is time to get into costume and start the preparations for the show once more. It is extraordinary to see the huge audience from the back of the hall, and it is just as well that I don’t get phased by large numbers (in fact, quite the opposite: if I had to address a meeting of twelve around the boardroom table I would be a hopeless, gibbering wreck.)

Once again the start time is delayed, but soon Bob is welcoming the audience, and the show starts again. As with last night the large audience is responsive and vocal, and the show is strong and energetic. There may be the first little signs of tiredness in my voice (the charity collector, the carol singer and Mrs Cratchit’s voices are all slightly broken), but it is not a major issue. I again concentrate on my consonants and pauses, so as not to fall into my default mode of speech.

‘God Bless us, Every One!’ A wonderful ovation – there never WAS such an ovation (well, not quite true, as last night’s matched it). It has been another great success at Byers Choice.

There now comes a difficult period of the tour, as the signing line will be big and the day’s second show is early, leaving very little time between the end of one and the start of the other. Pam does her best to keep the line moving and I try to keep the chat to a minimum, so as to save both time and voice.

By the time I sign the last autograph, the next audience is gathering in the store. Bob, Pam, Liz and I sit together in the kitchen and eat a salad and some soup, but in no time Bob is off to start seating and I need to get ready again.

The evening audience is slightly smaller (‘only’ 400) but the Bucks County West choir receive generous rounds of applause from them.

The show starts and it really is a case of dragging a rather weary body back to the levels that the story demands. It is actually a good show, not a great one, not an amazing one, but a perfectly respectable one. Silly things go wrong, as is often the case in such circumstances: I flick the rug up with my foot and almost trip on it, and then have to find an inconspicuous moment to flatten it out again; when I throw my coat towards the chair it misses and falls off the stage, and I have to make sure I have time to retrieve it before Scrooge gets ‘dressed all in his best’. Nothing major, but irritating little things, which all take the concentration away from the performance itself.

The audience are with me throughout though, and give me a suitably rousing Byers Choice farewell.

The signing session is not too difficult, as between us Pam and I have a good routine going now. The end of the queue comes surprisingly quickly, and this long, tiring day is at an end.

Almost at an end, for there is one more ceremony to be performed: Wendy has gathered as many of the staff who are still about as possible to witness the cutting of our Wedding Cake! Bob, Pam, Joyce, David and others give us a celebratory round of applause as the knife sinks through the icing and into the sponge below. We take a large chunk with us back to the hotel to enjoy for our dessert.

It feels as if it should be about 11pm, but actually it is only 8.15. The car park of The Joseph Ambler Inn is packed, and we struggle to find a space, but fortunately the bar and restaurant are surprisingly quiet. Having hung my costumes in our room to air, we sit and enjoy a plate of steak and fries in a corner of the bar.

We return to our room and enjoy our wedding cake before getting ready for bed.

The two days at Byers Choice never feels like work (although goodness knows this second day is a tough one), it just feels like a happy time spent among dear friends – which is exactly what it is!

Today is a day that I have been looking forward to for weeks: Liz is finally coming to join me in Witnterthur and will spend the final week of the tour on the road with me. Before we can be reunited we both have long journeys to make (hers rather longer than mine).

I pack all of my things and remind myself not to forget the full load of costume shirts in the drier downstairs: that would be a disaster. As I pack I find a belt from one the Hotel Hershey’s fluffy white robes that must have fallen into my case as I packed yesterday (was it only yesterday?).

I load the car up with my costumes, hat and cane and discover that the fog of yesterday has intensified and is very thick indeed. I can hardly see the other cars in the car park.

On the way to the breakfast room I pick up my shirts and stuff them all into a hotel laundry bag, before having some cereal, juice and coffee. It is 7am and I would like to be on the road by 7.30 – especially as the thick fog will presumably slow the journey down somewhat. 145 miles and three hours separate me from Winterthur.

In my room Liz and I exchange a flurry of emails: she is at the airport and ready to board her flight to Philadelphia. It is a strange thought that we will both be departing at about the same time bound for the same destination – one from London and one from Lewisburg.

As soon as I start to drive I know that this is going to be an arduous journey, requiring extreme concentration and caution. Of all the extreme weather conditions that I drive in, fog is my least favourite. I don’t mind driving in the snow or ice because you can make allowances, but fog is claustrophobic and to a certain extent your safety is in the hands of others. Even in these conditions of bad visibility some people are driving with no lights and extremely fast and aggressively.

There is certainly no danger of being distracted by the Susquehanna today, as she is lost in the cloud.

At one point there is an incongruous splash of colour at the roadside in the shape of a beach umbrella, which is covering a small table offering, as the crudely painted sign informs me ‘SAURE KRAUT’. What a strange thing to be selling at the roadside on a foggy morning.

The US15 takes me further south and towards Harrisburg again. The fog is still playing tricks with me, and I am convinced that one official road sign suggest that I ‘Try Carolling’, which seems very festive, if rather austere – a mile or so on I pass another sign with the same message and realise it is actually trying to reduce traffic in Harrisburg and in fact reads: Try Carpooling’.

Past Harrisburg and towards Lancaster and the fog lifts a little. The sun is making a tentative effort to break through, but only manages to appear as a flat disk, like a coin, in the sky. I have covered half of the journey and hopefully the most arduous part of the journey is behind me now.

I am aware that my throat is feeling rather tight, following my efforts last night, so I pop a Fisherman’s Friend into my mouth and do some deep slow breathing exercises. I am in Amish country now, and the fields stretch away on either side of the road. At the town of Gap I admire the wonderful lighthouse-like clock tower, as I always do, and drive on.

My route takes me through Chatham. the English town of the same name is where Charles Dickens grew up and enjoyed the happiest times of his childhood, but I dont think I would enjoy the Pennsylvanian version – the sole industry here seems to be mushrooms. I don’t like mushrooms: never have, never will. I don’t understand mushrooms. In fairness, they probably don’t understand me either. For all the fungi, Chatham looks a nice town, and I am sorry for it that it has become so infected!

Despite the bad weather I have actually made excellent progress and I am due to arrive at Winterthur an hour early. As my (our!) bed and breakfast is on my route I decide to stop there in the hope that my room may be ready – which it is.

The Fairville Inn is a lovely collection of old buildings, which provides a very welcome change from the world of corporate hotels. Our room is upstairs in Springhouse, and is furnished with beautiful furniture. There is a fireplace and balcony, which overlooks green lawns to the rear of the property.

It is nice to relax for a few minutes and not to arrive at my performance venue straight from the long journey. I make sure that I have everything that I need for the shows and at 11.15 get back into the car and drive to Winterthur.

Winterthur was the Delaware home (the state line is actually between the Fairville Inn and the house) of the DuPont family who bought such wealth to the Brandywine valley through their chemical company. Henry Francis DuPont was a great collector of fine arts and the house has become a museum dedicated to displaying his collections.

This will be my fourth year performing here and the welcome I receive as I walk in to the visitor centre is very special. Ellen Taviano is my contact and immediately takes me under her wing, and gets me settled in my dressing room (actually an office for the retail department of the building).

The sound check has to be delayed for a while, as the Copeland Lecture Hall is being fitted with a large digital projector, ready to screen the final series of Downton Abbey tomorrow. Over the years of this popular TV series, which has been such a hit in the USA, Winterthur has become very closely attached to it – the story of the DuPont’s home mirroring life in the fictitious Yorkshire pile.

It is not a great calamity to have my sound check delayed as I don’t use a microphone here, despite the hall being very long, holding 450 people. The acoustics are remarkable in Copeland so that I hardly need to project at all. I used a microphone for my very first performance and the sound just became distorted, so since then I have let the natural amplification of the room do the work.

The only thing to be actually tested is the show-opening sound effect and – glory be – the hall has a system that can play a CD.

I return to my dressing room, where Ellen has laid out a bowl of fruit, a tray of tea bags, a mug and a pot of honey, all of which I avail myself of.

The audience are gathering already and Ellen and her team are making sure that nobody gets into the hall before the 12.30 door opening. The doors to the theatre are at the back end of the beautifully and tastefully stocked gift shop, and it is fun to watch audience members pretending to browse, but in fact watching the door so that when it opens they can be first in.

It is a huge audience and I have a moment of doubt when I look into the hall – can I really do this without a mic? Of course I can, I have done it before.

I am to be introduced by David Roselle, the director of Winterthur, and I need to be on my guard as I have learned over the years that he likes to start talking when the clock strikes one, whether I am ready or not: bathroom break visits have to be carried out with plenty of time to spare.

Sure enough, I am chatting with Ellen and some of the volunteers in the gift shop when we are suddenly aware of David’s vice on stage. I hurry to the auditorium and wait for his cue. The music starts and I walk slowly to the stage and deliver the first line.

Now is the test: can the audience hear? When I say ‘Mind, I don’t mean to say that I know what there is particularly dead about a doornail’, there is laughter from the hall – most importantly there is laughter from the BACK of the hall. OK, I am safe!

After the difficulties of last night what I need today is a good show, a powerful show and a responsive audience and I am rewarded with all three. The stage is a lovely space to move on, and the audience is brilliant, quite brilliant.

At the end of the show they are on their feet and cheering even before I am down the three little steps from the stage. And as I walk out of the theatre there are a succession of high fives and pats on the back.

I change as rapidly as I can, and am soon at the signing table.

One young boy, he can be no more that twelve or thirteen, is dressed in a smart jacket. He proffers his programme for signing and then asks some very serious and well considered questions about the text: a professor of English literature in the making, without a doubt.

I have two hours before I have to be ready again and Liz is due to land at Philadelphia very soon. I sit in the office for a while, pondering the many (incomprehensible to me) notices and memos.

After a while I decide to return to Fairville Inn for an hour and relax, away from the venue. While I am laid on the bed I get an email from Liz saying that she has landed early, cleared immigration and is now waiting for her cases. Pam Byers has very kindly driven to Philadelphia and will transport her to Winterthur.

At five o’clock I am back and after making myself a tea and honey (my voice is a little raspy), I stand in the foyer chatting to people, but keeping an eye on the door. As I am talking to a very interesting gentleman who has been doing some historical research at Winterthur, and who has no connection with my show, the main door opens and Pam comes in, followed by Liz. I say ‘excuse me’ to the gentleman as politely as I can and rush to Liz: we hug, and hug and hug some more. Our reunion is a very public one, but people give us space and time, and are very respectful of our first moments together for five weeks.

Liz, I and Pam walk up to the car park, where we transfer the suitcases from one car to the other. We both thank Pam for her great kindness and she drives home to Doylestown and we go back to the visitor centre, where I have to get ready for the show.

We sit and chat in the office, as I get changed and ready. Liz drinks some water and eats a banana – she is tired and fading (her body is telling her that it is 11pm and that it is bed time).

At six Liz sits at the back of the auditorium, where she can ‘rest’ her eyes if necessary and I get ready to start another show.

It is another good performance, without being quite as crisp and energetic as this afternoon, but the audience is very enthusiastic. It is a work out, for sure and the cumulative effects of the long drive and the first show mean that I am not quite as lively as earlier, but I am very satisfied with the way that the day has gone.

Liz is waiting for me in the gift shop, but so are a long line of audience members, so I sit at the desk and sign for half an hour or so, until we can be together again.

I pack up all of my belongings, not forgetting to retrieve the scarf from the stage, and we get ready to leave, thanking Ellen and the staff for all of their help and kindness in making us feel so much at home.

Liz’s body clock is screaming rebellion now, but we are hungry so drive the short distance to Buckley’s Tavern, which is on the way back to the Inn. We are shown to a table and chat about the evening.

It is interesting for Liz to sit among the audience and listen to people’s responses. She overheard two lady’s talking about the script and bemoaning the fact that I didn’t include the line about Marley being ‘a bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato.’ They also continued by commenting about the book itself – The poulterer would never be open on Christmas morning!

To address the two points: I hate leaving some of the wonderful descriptions out of my script, but to perform it as a single act in eighty minutes means that some sacrifices have to be made. I do include the ‘bit of beef’ quote in my 2-act version of the show. I’d also love to include Bob Cratchit toasting to ‘Mr Scrooge, the founder of the feast’ and Mrs Cratchit’s irate response; I’d love to include the scene in which Scrooge is shown a young couple in debt to him celebrating his death, as they were on the point of being ruined by him.

And I would like to include one of the greatest passages in the book in which Scrooge and The Ghost of Christmas Present land in the streets on Christmas Morning:

The poulterers’ shops were still half open, and the fruiterers’ were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers’ benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people’s mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers’! oh, the Grocers’! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

It is a lovely scene – in early Victorian England the shops would indeed have been open on Christmas morning and the boy could have bought the prize turkey – more to the point was how the Cratchit family were able to have it cooked at such short notice!

At Buckleys we have a lovely dinner and talk and catch up, but we are both very tired now and we need to get back to the Fairville Inn.

A day that began with Liz in Abingdon and me in Lewisburg ends with us together again in Chadd’s Ford, Pennsylvania.

Following my day off yesterday it is back on the road today for the final leg of the tour: a leg that includes Liz flying out to join me tomorrow, which is so exciting, and something that we have both been looking forward to for the last five weeks

This morning I am driving from Hershey to Lewisburg, Pennsylvania: an hour north. I had packed most of my things yesterday, so don’t have too much to do this morning.

I make sure that I have a is a much healthier breakfast (well, it is a working day after all). The service in The Circular Dining Room is a three-pronged affair: The maitre d’ welcomes and shows you to your table, then your designated server introduces him or herself (herself this morning) and asks if you would like coffee and juice; at this point a third presence appears who fills your water glass and clears any used plate from the table. It is the third man who interests me this morning, as he displays a subtle change in American conversation.

Ever since I have been travelling to America I have become used to the phrase ‘thank you’, being followed by ‘you’re welcome’ (we don’t say that in England – maybe ‘it’s my pleasure’, or something like that, but rarely you’re welcome). This morning, however, it is different: ‘you’re welcome’ is replaced with ‘absolutely’. To illustrate:

Him: ‘May I take your plate, sir?’

Me: ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

Him: ‘Absolutely.

And –

Him: ‘would you like more juice, sir?’

Me: ‘No thank you.’

Him: ‘shall I take the glass?’

Me: ‘Yes, thank you.’

Him: ‘Absolutely!’

I may be witnessing the very start of a seismic shift in linguistics.

When I get back to the room I still have plenty of time before I have to leave, but rather than sitting at Hershey watching TV I decide to get on the road early. I check out at 9am and as I’m waiting for the girl to print off the receipt I see one of the saddest things that I have seen for a long time: on the counter there is a large bar of Hershey chocolate wrapped in colourful paper, it has a specially printed label on it which reads ‘Happy 32nd Anniversary Mr and Mrs Richards’. There is also a small yellow post-it note on the bar with two words scrawled across it: ‘No Show’.

The weather is misty this morning and my route takes me back to Harrisburg and then north, following the course of the magnificent Susquehanna river. This has become a regular journey for me, as I have been performing in Lewisburg, PA for four years, and the views never fail to impress.

I have driven along US15 in almost every weather condition, including snow and icy rain, but today the fog sits low in the valley. The further north I drive the thicker it gets: a white cloying shroud that swallows up the other cars on the road.

At Liverpool I pull into a small car park (I have stopped in the same spot in previous years,) to take some photographs. The trees are like ghosts in negative – shadowy forms somewhere deep within the white.

I drive on through hunting country, passing the many diners and adult book stores on the route. I mentioned in a previous post that there seemed to be an inordinate amount of dental practices in Worcester, Mass, but here the main businesses are truck or boat related: car washes, tyre and exhaust dealerships, crash repairs. In these hills trucks are more important than teeth, whereas in Mass, crowns scoop cars.

I arrive in Lewisburg in good time, and drive straight to the Best Western Hotel that serves the Country Cupboard store and restaurant. As soon as I walk through the door I am cheerfully welcomed by name and given the key to my room with no delay: it is only 10am, but the management here always have a room prepared for me (that sounds very James Bond like: ‘Ah, Mr Dickens, your usual suite is ready for you….’)

When I get t my room I find a bag filled with of cookies, pastries, peanuts and other treats waiting for me. There is also a Country Cupboard mug, complete with tea bags and honey: Missy at the store obviously has a good memory!

I iron a couple of shirts and generally get things ready for the day ahead and at 11.30 walk the few hundred yards to the store itself, where the events will take place in a large function room. The Country Cupboard has been hosting me for four years and everything is pleasantly familiar. Missy is sat chatting with KJ, a singer who entertains the crowd with Christmas songs before my show. We all hug and chat as if we had last met yesterday, rather than twelve months ago.

The room is laid out with tables for the audience to dine at before the show. Missy says that numbers are slightly down this year but honestly I can’t see how they can have fitted any extra tables in.

The stage is well furnished, with a mantelpiece strewn with fir, cherry-cheeked-apples and luscious pears. Lighting is provided by a row of good old fashioned footlights at the front.

We do a sound check and all sounds good and then discuss the issue of the musical effect. Once again, as in Omaha, there is no simple way of playing a CD in the room, so Missy’s phone will be plugged into a separate amplifier, and then she will hold a microphone in front of the speaker to broadcast through the room’s built-in system. The problem here is that Missy will be making the introduction at the front of the room, whilst the secondary amp is at the back. In the end we arrange for KJ to leave the stage after her set, and look after the music.

When I had the idea of a simple sound effect I never imagined that things would prove so awkward at so many places!

Sound check complete it is time to retire to my room for a while. The audience are gathering (indeed some were here long before me), and they will be sitting down to an amazing buffet feast before I perform for them.

With half an hour to go before the show I return to the hall, where KJ is just getting ready to sing. I stand at the back with Missy, watching the crowd and sipping tea and honey. We are stood next to the dessert table which is groaning under the weight of such creamy trifles and mousses, that I’m sure my cholesterol levels rise a few points just by looking at them.

On stage KJ encourages people to sing along with some of the songs which they lustily do – that bodes well for a fun show.

KJ Entertains

At 1.30 Missy stands, nervously, at the front of the room (she doesn’t want to take the stage) and welcomes all of the guests. She finishes her remarks, KJ hits ‘play’ on the phone and amazingly the music is broadcast through the room. I make my slow way from the back, through the tables, and a little Mexican Wave of applause follows my progress, which is rather nice.

It is a hot show, but a good one. During this year’s trip I have discovered that I have two opportunities to mop my brow, when Scrooge falls asleep. If I lay in the chair with my face turned sideways, the fabric becomes an impromptu towel. As I do the same here I notice that the chair has a price tag on it: somebody will be getting more than they bargained for: ‘Genuine Dickens DNA with this item!’

It is nice to be back to the full script, after the shortened versions that I performed at Hershey. All of the little bits of business work a treat and the audience have a lovely time. They stand up at the end, and give me a wonderful ovation.

My dressing room is a little store cupboard behind the stage, so I am able to quickly change into my dry costume before joining Missy for the signing, which is held elsewhere in the store. There is a short line of people (one of the advantages of having the signing away from the theatre is that only the fully dedicated make their way to it – not so many of the ‘will-you-just-sign-my-programme-set’)

People chat and tell me how much they’ve enjoyed the show and how many times they have seen me, etc. I sign a lot of Byers Choice Carollers here, which is nice. Country Cupboard are a good customer of Byers, hence our first connection five years ago.

In between shows I change and meet Missy and KJ for our own buffet lunch. I have some beef, with vegetables and potato. We chat about this and that and nothing, and it is a lovely relaxing, inconsequential bit of down time.

I now have two hours to relax in before I’m back up, and take the opportunity to avail myself of the huge deep Jacuzzi bathtub in the room, before having a quick nap.

6.00 comes round all too quickly and in no time I am standing at the back of the room with Missy again, watching KJ. It is the same scene as the afternoon, but with one subtle difference: KJ is struggling to elicit any response from the audience – no lusty signing this evening and when I start my show I find the same. It is hard work.

There are a few giggles and quiet responses but on the whole the room is quiet for the duration of the show. Over the last couple of years I have been better at not ‘chasing’ an audience response – at just allowing the story to unfold, but tonight for the first time this year I over-stretch myself and try too hard, which I am annoyed about.

It isn’t a good show for me, and this is an audience that I struggle to engage with. Usually when I write something like that, I follow it up by saying ‘however at the end they leaped to their feet and cheered and shouted loudly’. Not tonight. There is polite applause, which sees me through my routine of bows, but little more. (One very kind man stands up just as I am leaving the stage). Ugh! Frustrating! I know it can’t be perfect every time, but it’s not easy to take when it isn’t.

I change back into my first costume again and meet Missy for the signing, who kindly assures me that the show was just as good as this afternoon’s. Strangely there is a longer signing line tonight and many people have made multiple purchases, so I am sat at the desk for quite a while. Everyone says how much they have enjoyed the evening and that they will be back next year, so that makes me feel a little better.

After signing I return to the hall to pick up my hat, my cane AND MY SCARF, before saying goodbye to Missy and returning to my room, via the laundry room where I pile a huge load of white shirts into the machine.

Just over the parking lot there is a small restaurant bar called Matty’s, and The Country Cupboard have an arrangement with them to give me a late dinner, which is a lovely way to wind down.

As I walk from the hotel to Matty’s I am met with the strange sight of four huge trucks apparently mating: I told you that they were obsessed with trucks in the mountains, but I hadn’t realised that extended to auto husbandry!

In the bar I enjoy a delicious Thai Salmon dish, whilst watching my football team (soccer for the benefit of my American readers) on a big screen. The surreal nature of my evening continues when Chelsea actually manage to win – a rarity this season.

Before bed I transfer my load of washing to the drier. I will pick the shirts up in the morning before departing from Lewsiburg and driving to Delaware, and to Liz.

Actually I have a couple of work related things to deal with before I enjoy my day of freedom. I want to take the opportunity to get all of my costumes dry cleaned, so that they are fresh for the final push. I bag both costumes up and take them down to the front desk early, so as to be sure to get them back this evening.

I also take the opportunity to load some things into the car (Pam has left the Volvo for me to use for the next week), so that I don’t have to pack everything into my cases. It is another beautiful morning and I take some pictures of the sun peeping through the mist over Hershey.

I also do a little more work on the UK leg of my tour, before going down to breakfast in the dining room, where I am greeted like an old friend by one of the waiting staff, who used to work on my event before it moved upstairs to The Castilian Room.

As it is a free day I decide to splurge on breakfast, just for old time’s sake and order Hershey Kisses Waffles, with 2 eggs and bacon, followed by some toast. I am intrigued by the Kisses reference and when they are delivered I see that the iconic chocolate drop shape has been built into the waffle iron.

I linger long over breakfast and contemplate my options for the day ahead: I could stay in the hotel and maybe visit the spa for a bit of a pamper, but the hotel represents work, and I would really like to get away completely today. On my last day off in Pigeon Forge I drove up into the Smoky Mountains and had an amazing time, and I think that’s the sort of thing I’m in the mood for.

Two years ago I was in the same situation at Hershey and decided to visit the Gettysburg Battlefield. On that occasion, and it seems remarkable now, the visitor centre was closed due to heavy snow, but today the sun is shining, so Gettysburg it is.

The drive is just over an hour and takes me through the capital of Pennsylvania, Harrisburg where Charles Dickens visited in 1842.

I arrive at the visitor centre and buy a ticket for ‘Theatre, Cyclorama and Museum’. The movie theatre is my first stop and I watch a film about the Battle of Gettysburg about which I know nothing at all. Like most Englishmen my only knowledge of Gettysburg is carved into the walls of the Lincoln Memorial in DC.

I apologise to my American readers who presumably know all of this from school history lessons, but the story of the battle deserves airing:

The American Civil War had already been raging for two years and Robert E Lee, The Confederate military leader, decided that he needed to make a pro-active strike into Pennsylvania. The town of Gettysburg was a strategically desirable location as it was the meeting of place of ten major roads. In July 1863 The Confederate forces were in good spirits having just scored an important victory over the Union in Virginia.

On July 1 the opposing forces clashed for the first time and during that day and the following one Lee’s forces gained the upper hand in both numbers and position. By the end of July 2 the Union army was almost surrounded, but they had the great advantage of holding the high ground. On the night of the 2nd the opposing generals (General George Meades led the Union forces) moved their various battalions around the battlegrounds as if they were pieces in a chess game.

July 3 1863 was a bloodbath. Lee attacked with the superior might of his infantry, but Mead’s men, gathered on Cemetery Ridge, held fast and fought back with rifle and cannon fire. As the day wore on the Union troops began to gain the upper hand and the Confederates were forced to retreat into Virginia. In the fields around Gettysburg over 8,000 human corpses and around 3,000 equine ones lay in the mud. The Civil War continued to rage on with other battles in other towns, but Gettysburg had to cope with the aftermath here.

After the film finishes we are guided to an escalator which takes us into the centre of one of the most remarkable exhibits I have ever seen. The 360⁰ cyclorama shows the entire battle field, and as the light and sound show starts the story of the battle is re-told. Flashes of light and loud sound effects bring the painting to life and the real horror of the scene is made even more real by the artist’s surprisingly lurid representations of the dead and wounded.

What is most remarkable about the Cyclorama is that it was painted in 1883, and has been on display ever since – firstly in Boston and later here in Gettysburg itself. It is an astounding piece of work and a remarkable historical document.

The museum area is well presented and takes the story (the details of which are becoming familiar now), to a further level and it is here that the chess analogy really begins to become apparent. Two generals trying to out-smart each other, while their troops fell. The tragic thing is that I could have written that sentence about any number of conflicts during the course of the human race’s presence on this planet.

I leave the visitor centre with the feeling that I have really learned something today. In the car park there is a map dispenser and a brief look confirms that Cemetery Ridge is only a short drive away, and as I feel like some fresh air I decide to visit the battlefield itself.

And now it becomes real: Horribly, tragically, bloodily real. I had learned that the Union forces occupied high ground on Cemetery Ridge, but the ground is almost flat, there is nothing more than the slightest rise here. The stockades and low stone walls are just as they were represented in the Cyclorama and those images of screaming soldiers are haunting me. Right here, where I am standing, on the ground that I am looking at, thousands of men died. And this battle lasted for only three days in a war of four years.

I have stood and had the same feelings at Battle (1066), Agincourt (1415, 1914-18, 1939-45), and Crete (1941) and there is the same sense of inevitability about each place: lessons are just never learned. If an alien being were to study the history of the human race it would conclude that to be human is to crave conflict.

Cemetery Ridge is thankfully a sombre and respectful tribute to the fallen and the road is lined with stone memorials to all of the battalions that fought here. I am sure that there are tacky ‘experiences’ in town, but the battlefield is protected and preserved carefully.

Behind Cemetery Ridge is the Soldier’s National Cemetery where Abraham Lincoln gave his famous address in November of 1863. The Civil War graves are impressive but even more poignant are the more modern graves of servicemen: each has a Christmas wreath laid against the bright white stone.

It has been a difficult visit but a greatly educational one. I am glad that I came.

Back at the hotel I have a brief nap in my room, before going to dinner in The Harvest restaurant, which although part of the hotel, is not actually in the building itself. The Harvest is a lot less formal than The Circular Dining Room and specialises in simple grilled cooking, sourcing its food from organic local farms. The décor is smart but simple, and I enjoy a delicious pork chop with a baked potato and rainbow carrots.

It is amazing to think that since I first came to Hershey the hotel has built Harvest, added a spa and completely re-modelled the dining room; and yet, despite all of these modernisations, the dear old lady is still grand and elegant and provides superb hospitality with unrivalled service.

Yes, from a performing point of view it isn’t the easiest stop on my tour, but it is one of the most luxurious and it is always a pleasure to stay here.

This morning I have a live radio interview so my alarm is set for six but I wake before it rings. I make some coffee and write a little, until it is time to call the radio station. The broadcast is to help promote my forthcoming events at Byers Choice next weekend.

As is usual on the occasions, the producer will connect me to the studio, and I will hear whatever is being broadcast prior to my spot, before the presenter comes to me. Usually this will mean that I get to listen to the traffic news, or weather, but today there is a feature on nudist cruise holidays: ‘sometimes you will be in an elevator crowded with other naked men and women’; ‘most people take towels to place on the seats when they go to the shows in the theatre’, and more like that.

When it is my turn to speak all I can think of is the Byers Choice audience of six hundred sat in their all-together…

I pull myself together, and we have a nice conversation about the Byers’ events, and how they have become part such a part of many families’ Christmas tradition. As we talk, I realise that Liz will be with me when these shows are happening, and that they are less than a week away, which is a wonderful feeling.

With the interview wrapped up, I open the curtains to the most beautiful misty, sunny morning. The Hotel Hershey is built on a hill, overlooking the town itself, and this morning the mist lays low in the valley, the tops of roller-coaster rides and a ferris wheel peeking through. I would love to take my camera and walk, but I have another appointment at eight o’clock.

Pam is staying at the hotel and has a box of fifty copies of A Christmas Carol which need signing, so that they are ready to be presented to guests at a forthcoming event. We meet in the Fountain Lobby (which looks so nice without all of the tea tables in it), and chat about the show last night, as she hands me the books and I sign. It is a good production line and the fifty are soon heaped in a pile ready to be re-packed.

The Fountain Lobby is just outside the grand Circular Dining Room, where breakfast is being served. When Milton Hershey built the hotel he brought his own travelling experiences to bear. He would get annoyed when, as a single diner, he got seated in a corner of restaurants, so when he built his own he made sure that there were no corners in which to be seated.

This morning I spy David and Teresa sitting by the window and I join them. The breakfast buffet at Hershey is amazing, and I confine myself to a bowl of porridge (oatmeal) and some pastries, topped off with fresh grapefruit juice and coffee.

Teresa is very keen that I should perform in Baltimore, and as I have noticed Pam and her mother coming into the restaurant, I introduce them, with the thought that something may develop in the future.

David, Teresa and Pam are all leaving this morning, so I say my goodbyes, before going back to my room, where I spend a very lazy morning.

I finish writing the blog post, which is a long one, and my progress is hampered by the fact that the laptop gets slower and slower as I write. I finally manage to get ‘Survival’ uploaded, complete with photographs.

After watching a bit of TV and napping, midday comes around, so I go to the Trevi 5 restaurant on the second floor. I don’t think that Mr Hershey would be terribly impressed as I’m shown to a tiny table in a corner where I am sat facing a wall. As I wait for a turkey Panini to be delivered I check the BBC news website and am appalled to find that there has been a stabbing in the middle of our home town of Abingdon. A man armed with two knives walked into a store and committed murder in our sleepy little riverside community.

What a world we live in.

I return to my room and begin preparations for the afternoon tea performance.

The Fountain Lobby is busy again this afternoon, and I look down from the gallery as the audience enjoy their tea service below.

Tea in The Fountain Lobby

I make my way downstairs, and start to get the microphone on, when a table of guests come to see me. In previous years a young boy called Derek has been brought to the shows by his grandparents, and last year they brought me a case of beer, in recognition of ‘the plenty of beer’ consumed at Fezziwig’s Christmas party. This year not only is Derek back, but his twin brother and sister are making their debut appearances: cue THREE boxes of beer! We pose for pictures, and they return to their table, ready for the show.

Morgan, Derek and Chad

Plenty of Beer

As I wait for the final cakes and fancies to be served, I sip a cup of black tea and honey. The air in The Hotel Hershey is very dry and often I have found myself with a sore throat here. This year I have taken preventative measures, by sucking and deeply inhaling Fisherman’s Friends, and drinking lots of water. The tea and honey combination is lovely and soothing, setting me up well for the hour ahead.

The Monday afternoon audience is much quieter than yesterday’s, but not in a disinterested way – they are hanging on every word, and I can even risk a few pauses. I make sure that I fuss over Derek’s table: his grandfather becomes old Fezziwig, and when I call to the boy on Christmas morning, I deliver the lines directly to Derek.

I reach the end of the show, and am hot and tired (I always know when I’m tired, because I can’t say the line: ‘They were succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as if someone were dragging a heavy chain across the casks in the wine merchant’s cellar below’ without taking a breath), but the response is great, and lots of people want their pictures taken with me, and their menus signed, which I am happy to do.

It is 5.15 by the time I get back to the room, so I just have time to run a bath and soak for a while, before getting ready for the evening dinner show.

There is a much smaller crowd due tonight, and I remember the same event last year, when I completely failed to engage the audience and struggled to give any sort of performance. I am determined not to let the same thing happen tonight.

When the doors of The Castilian Room are opened I am greeted by a whole succession of people who have been to my events multiple times. There is a feeling of friendship and support in the room, and people want photographs from the very start, which helps to clear my mind of negative memories.

My body feels weary and tired and I think that is purely down to the subliminal thought that I have a completely free day tomorrow. The last time I had a day off with no travelling or any other commitments was back in Pigeon Forge on November 10, and I have been looking forward to December 8 for some time.

I have to shake such thoughts off: there is a show to be done, and an audience to be entertained. The room could do with some Christmas music in it, to create a bit of atmosphere, and we need to think about that for next year.

When all of the waiters have taken orders, and served wine, I am given the nod to begin. The first chapter goes very well and there is a buzz of conversation in the room as the soup is served. I am not eating at the dinner tonight, so I stand with the sound engineer and the banquet captain, watching the guests.

A show like this is more like a series of separate performances, rather than just one. Tonight show number 1 goes well; 2 not as strong; 3, 4 and 5 building back up towards a strong climax. With relatively few tables in the room I try to make sure that everyone gets a little part of the show, and feels involved. One man seems to be permanently studying his phone beneath the table during each of my sessions (he is discreet, but the tell-tale blue glow reflects onto his downturned face and glasses), but apart from that everyone seems to be enjoying it very much.

With God Bless us, Every One, everyone claps and stands, including the sound guy, which is rather touching. Everybody (almost everybody, I think that our friend is checking his emails somewhere) comes to shake hands and to thank me. I find a permanent position in front of the huge Christmas tree and a succession of people stand next to me and we smile into cameras and phones.

Before leaving the room I make sure I thank the staff who have worked so elegantly and apparently effortlessly to serve the guests with their dinners.

I go back to my room and change quickly, before returning to the bar to have a bite to eat. I order a burger and a glass of wine, which very kindly is given to me with the compliments of the beverage department.

Having finished my late supper I go back to the room where I flop onto the bed with a huge feeling of freedom: a whole day off! What WILL I do?